


Tailoring

by love_is_for_the_brave



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Civilian Eggsy Unwin, First Meetings, M/M, Tailor Harry Hart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-17 22:29:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29107848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/love_is_for_the_brave/pseuds/love_is_for_the_brave
Summary: Even if Harry wasn't a Kingsman, some things remain unchanged.Harry is still a soft boy tired of snobs. He still works at Kingsman, albeit only as a tailor.Eggsy still has a violent upbringing. He still has a heart of gold and tries his best for his sister.V-Day still happened, and it leaves Eggsy as Daisy's single caretaker. It also leaves Harry with only one eye.Harry and Eggsy still meet, and this is how it happens.
Relationships: Harry Hart | Galahad/Gary "Eggsy" Unwin
Comments: 6
Kudos: 52





	Tailoring

**Author's Note:**

> This late-night-idea demanded to be written down, and I'm a sucker for Alternate Universes.

It’s dark outside when Harry leaves the shop.

The dim street lamps let their light reflect on the puddles along the empty street. The heat from the buildings melts any ice away in mere seconds, but the cold still freezes Harry’s breath in place, like an airy snapshot. He pulls the wollen coat tighter around him. Long working hours have left him without a proper meal since breakfast, and the reality of time starts to seek into his bones. Months after V-Day, he is back at the shop and so are their remaining clients. He is his own hardest critic when it comes to his work speed, still not up to before his vision was impaired, but even that doesn’t buy him the time he needs. After their boss decided to decorate their briefing room with the remains of his elitist brain, the additional work for the bollocks paper shuffling at the desk just doesn’t move away. It doesn’t matter how often he stares at the pile darkly and imagines ways to kill it. He’s afraid the butterfly frame he hung up behind his desk softens his deadly thoughts.

There’s also the fact that Merlin has taken a photo when he didn’t notice, showing him slouched in his chair looking like he’d haunt anybody who was responsible for even just one more letter on the sheets and bring them to a slow death buy burying them in paper work in a dark cellar. Merlin has printed this picture and now it hangs behind _his_ desk. It doesn’t brighten Harry’s mood. It does wonders for Merlin’s, though.

There’s another downside to his workload. It’s more physical and usually reminds him of its existence when he leaves the shop: both slouching around clients for measurements and slouching above tailoring and business work desks leaves him with very little movement, and his legs have never shaken off the idea that running for miles on end was only for his military time.

And this is how Harry finds himself wandering the streets of London day in, day out. Even without his military training he’d by now have the city mapped in his head. However, he likes his feet to take him wherever they want to. It’s not like he can’t defend himself. Moreover, he’s already taking pity in advantage at those who try to do it and think of him as an easy target: a lost man in expensive clothing in the wrong part of town, alone, at night. Just because he collects butterflies and cries at Mir Pickle’s annual death day doesn’t mean he forgot his training or is not keeping it up.

It hasn’t happened very much of lately. V-Day has shown the world that everyone has the darkest side in them. Yet the memories start to fade away for most. Healing from traumatic memories is difficult, and the nebulous layers of time seem to make some younger gentlemen careless, because Harry hears footsteps behind him.

___

“Daisy, love, it’s only one more spoon of carrot. We like carrot!“, Eggsy desperately tries to get his sister to eat her dinner.

Today, Daisy decided that she doesn’t like carrots, which is fucking wonderful because so far it had been her favourite vegetable. It had also given Eggsy the hope that at least she would get the vitamins for her eyesight if nothing else, and thus, making him less of a failure. He feels like that most of the time. Honestly, everybody shitting on single parents has no clue. Here he is, working two jobs next to studying pediatric nursing because if nothing else then at least Daisy deserves a stable future, someone to take care of her and to look up to. He is doing everything to ensure she has a better upbringing than him, which, to be honest, isn’t that hard.

The keys jingle and he hears Roxy shuffling out of her winter clothes. It makes Daisy look up from the point on the fork with the carrot she had been eyeing critically, and if that is not the perfect opportunity to make her eat unsuspiciously then Eggsy doesn’t know either. He nearly wants to cry when she makes an irritated face at him, but chews and swallows now that she can’t actually see the carrot. She even makes grabby hands to have more and for a moment Eggsy thinks about asking if she’s shitting him until he remembers, language.

“Tough dinner?“, Roxy asks when she comes into the kitchen.

She doesn’t look that relaxed herself, though Eggsy nows she can’t beat him at that. Today was Thursday, and Thursdays he always has to spend at the hospital. That’s not the problem, no. The problem presents itself in the form of Charlie, nearly caricature prick med student. Eggsy is fairly sure that Daddy’s money bought most of the studies for Charlie, because honestly, sometimes he has to show him stuff that should be Charlie’s work and not his. Roxy says that it should be Eggsy in Charlie’s position. They both know that he wouldn’t have neither the time nor the money to stretch himself for even more years until the education is finished.

Today, Charlie simply left Eggsy when a scared child whose parent wasn’t much help didn’t stop crying. No fucking surprise when Charlie always seemed to stick to the most dangerous faces when pulling out the needles, so Eggsy spent the better part of his early-experiencing practical class with sobbing children left in the wake of Charlie’s trail, because it didn’t get better afterwards. Which would all be fine because he’s had a shitload of training with calming terrified training weren’t it for then working at the coffee shop close to Savile Row, which was amazing because Roxy worked there too and the pay was above average. She had pulled some strings, he knew that, because their boss was more upper-class than he wanted to think of himself.

Just today, of fucking course, there had been the typical posh snob giving him shit for whatever. Eggsy was used to tuning that out, and he was used to reactions to his accent. Just all of this combined, and he wouldn’t know where he would be if it weren’t for Roxy, because without telling her a single thing she takes a good look at him and says:

“I take her this evening. You go out and for a run. Dinner will be in the fridge.“

She scoops up a sulking Daisy and coos her, promising a fun bath and some of her educational games afterwards while simultaneously giving Eggsy a heartfelt squeeze.

“I don’t know what I’do without you“, Eggsy mumbles from behind the hands he’s running up and down his face.

“ I know“, Roxy dryly replies. “You owe me cooking for when I bring Amelia here for the next movie date. Love you!“

Eggsy grunts in response and lifts himself out of the chair. He doesn’t bother changing his clothes, since he’s already in his sweat pants and an old t-shirt. Daisy has found the joy in spitting he food out again simply to annoy Eggsy, if her giggle indicates anything, and he’s better safe than sorry. Within a couple of minutes he’s outside of their shared flat, which Roxy pays for with one of the funds from her insane family. Eggsy’s thankful for it, although he always puts up a show when an extra bill finds its way into their mail box and Roxy isn’t quick enough. They have this silent agreement, because Eggsy has his pride and doesn’t allow many people to take care of him. Which is to say, about only Roxy, because his workload leaves barely enough time for a sad little wank in the shower once in a while, leave alone anything close to a dating or, let alone, love life.

___

“Oi, grandpa! Wrong part of town? Or you looking for a bit of arse?“

Harry sighs. If only there would be something more creative than simply observing that he’s older than the young men behind him, at least there’d be some amusement. As it is, it’s the same old witless words.

“Oi! You think you can just keep walking, grandpa?“

The voice gets more aggressive and the feet shuffle quicker along the wet pavement. Harry rolls his eye. He almost feel as if he’s rolling it harder as if to make up for the lack of rolling his other one. Can one roll his eye out of his skull, he wonders. He also stops walking. Someone walks into him, which is more satisfying than it should be. It’s also a bit disappointing, because Harry doesn’t consider himself a violent being, but he enjoys a good fight. Merlin says that’s bollocks and Harry just has no other release for his emotions, since he’s too vain to “pull some“, which are Merlins’ words and not his, since he lost his eye. His private life wasn’t worth mentioning before V-Day too, but he takes these small mercies of not having _that_ shoved in his face.

Turning around and putting up his best “Oh no, I was caught by very intelligent criminals, what do?“ face, he registers a small group of wannabe thugs loitering on the street. The tallest one and the obvious group leader has really terrible posture. Harry thinks of mentioning that. His own neck starts to hurt the longer he looks at the young man.

“How about you give us your money, geezer?“, his apparent right hand snickers at Harry.

“How about you let me walk away and no harm’s done?“, Harry asks politely.

It seems that the group isn’t not that happy about his proposal. Oh, well. What a pity.

___

Eggsy’s footsteps are the only sound on the damp streets. He likes to run without his headphones, a habit hard to shake from growing up in the estates and constantly expecting the next fist to explode in his face. It also gives him peace. The hospital and the lectures are full of people and their sounds, the coffee shops too is filled with noise, albeit of different emotions, and Daisy is a small child. Of course she gets loud, she gets sulky, she gets overjoyed and he is honestly considering of saving money for noise-cancelling headphones. By his rate of saving up he’ll get them when Daisy has finished university herself.

He just needs a little bit of peace and quiet. Cold, damp weather gets everyone inside their comfy living rooms, and so it’s the weather that gets Eggsy out to enjoy the deserted streets. He is a quick runner, still, and his parkour skills have come in handy once or twice since moving to a nicer neighbourhood and in with Roxy, so he’s knows he’s relatively safe.

That is probably not the case for the man he sees surrounded by a group of young men that look suspiciously like Dean’s gang. Eggsy discusses moving closer or keeping on running, but his bloody morals always win and he finds himself slowing down, trying to make out some words.

It’s the aggressive stance and the poor posture that shows him even before he gets close enough, though, that shit always survives. Dean’s dogs are still around, fucking great, and the gentleman looks posh enough to know nothing about getting away safely. Eggsy rolls his eyes and sighs.

“Oi, Rottweiler! Who let you out on the street? Where’s your master?“

At least Eggsy knows how to get someone’s temper away and unto himself. Poodle however lets his eyes drift between the gentleman and Eggsy a couple of times, and, being the bag of dog shit he is, comes back at him. Rottweiler is too dumbfounded for that.

“Muggsy, didn’t know you survived. How’s your little arse, back on Smith Street? Only way for you to get money, innit?“

The gentleman, who had started to gain a safe distance to the group and silently approaching Eggsy’s direction, stops in his tracks and turns around to face Poodle.

“Now, is that a way to talk with a young man, or anybody for that matter, regardless of their profession?“, the gentleman says, and it’s the first time Eggsy’s heard him spoking the whole time.

It’s a calm voice. It reminds him of the dark chocolate Roxy likes to eat when he prefers the sweeter stuff, and of the peace and quiet of one of those rare evenings he has alone to himself. It’s also surprising, given the situation. The man doesn’t look like he knows how to fight: he wears glasses and a heavy wool coat, there’s an umbrella hanging from his hand and and expensive watch on his wrist. There are shadows to his face, but Eggsy put it down to the poor lightning of the poor street they’re standing on. He absolutely doesn’t look like someone who is calm when faced with a mugging.

“Oi, seems like you two fight right together.“ Poodle is relentless. It’s why his nose has been broken more times than he has candles on the rare occasion he probably gets a birthday cake.

The gentleman is now standing next to Eggsy, so that he can hear him silently tut. What the fuck, Eggsy thinks. It’s not like they’re trying to learn manners or some shit at a butlers’ school. They’re trying not to get beaten up by the few brains standing before them. Looking at him now, standing beneath the lamp, Eggsy can see the blackened glass at one side of his face. Curious.

“Manners“, the man says ever-so-calmly and stretches his fingers, “maketh man man.“

What follows might be the most spectacular thing Eggsy has ever witnessed, and if it turns him on a bit then he has no shame about that.

The man takes out Rottweiler by hooking his umbrella around a half-emptied beer bootle on the sidewalk and sending it directly onto his forehead. Rottweiler instantly collapses and into the stunned silence from everyone but him, he somehow even says:

“Now, are we going to stand around here all day, or are we going to fight?“

___

It bores Harry. A hook here, send one of the man into the other here, a tooth flying across the whole scene and the odd drops of blood from a crushed nose. Only when the first to go down draws a gun from a very unsafe place, Harry feels his senses and instincts kicking in fully. Trying to ignore how after all this time, his blood sings with the joy of danger and the _aliveness_ he hasn’t felt since V-Day, he shoves the young bystander behind the next wall for cover. He counts the shots. The gun must be empty by now and there’s no reloading sound echoing from the empty streets. A dog barks, a light in one of the flats is switched on. It won’t be long until the police are here.

Harry takes a good look at the young man crouched next to him. He seemed to know the attackers, but Harry’s guessing the feeling wasn’t amiable if the remarks are anything to go by. He looks remarkably calm for experiencing a fight, and Harry guesses that there must be more experience than simply surviving V-Day. Now, the young man turns his head to stare at Harry. Bright eyes look at him like he’s the odd one out in this mess, and if he notices a sharp lines of his jawline, the tiredness in his under-eye area and the fit physique, then he has no shame about that. Growing up he has felt enough shame for his love for a lifetime and more, and he won’t start that again at his age.

And if the wetting of his lips makes the young man scrambling for words slightly more sinful, and if Harry can’t really control his peacocking by smoothly standing up and walking towards the shooter and delivering an efficient hook right to his jawline, he really can’t be blamed for that.

He takes out a piece of paper and scribbles down a number, stuffing it into his attacker’s jacket. The bystander is approaching him and raises an eyebrow.

“The number of a physiotherapist“, Harry answers the unspoken question. He turns around to fully face him.

“His posture gave my a neck-ache from the minute I turned to face him.“

The bystander seems so puzzled that Harry remembers he doesn’t even know his name.

“Harry Hart. I’m sorry you had to witness that. Thank you for stopping by. It shows good morale.“

“I’m Eggsy, I mean Gary, I mean, bollocks, call me Eggsy“, Eggsy’s introduces himself slightly less smoother than Harry had done. His hand is smaller than Harry’s, which is not that hard considering his gigantic hands. They feel nice. Strong. Harry finds Eggsy’s pulse point and also confirmation: this is hardly the first fight Eggsy has ever witnessed.

“Nice to meet you, Eggsy.“ Harry hears the sirens in the distance and he really, really hates bureaucracy. Also, all has been dealt with and he’s looking forward to his bed, even if he sleeps in it alone. Although… although he quickly reminds himself that even if the comments from earlier on are anything to go by, he will hardly be attractive to this handsome man. At least he has some new images in his head now for later.

“I’m afraid I’d rather not spend the time at the police giving them my witness report. How about we separate ways and make a dash?“

___

Eggsy can only nod. It seems that when faced with a lithe, fit stranger who fights like others dance, his speech centre stops working. It might also have to do with the hand surrounding his and the swift sweep of a calloused thump over his wrist. Or with the voice and the smell of a surely expensive cologne and the warm and intense eye holding contact just a splinter of time too long to be casual.

Without another word, Harry Hart nods at him, turns and walks towards the street corner, vanishing in the opposite direction of the approaching sirens. And looking at the scenery and his outfit and his overall wonderful luck with chance, Eggsy quickly sobers and makes for a quick sprint and then a slightly too fast pace until he reaches his flat again, exhausted and legs nearly giving out on the stairs until he downs a gallon of water and makes for Daisy’s bedroom. She is safe and sound, snoring lightly whenever her nose gets too close to the blanket. Eggsy quickly texts Roxy a heart to thank her and microwaves his prepared meal.

And if he thinks of Harry Hart in the shower, let him. He doesn’t pull these days, because who’d want a part-time student with a small child and two jobs on the side, and so he luxuriates in the idea what must lie beneath the wool coat for Harry Hart to fight like he did. Eggsy falls into bed utterly exhausted and restful sleep embraces him.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to leave kudos/comments if you'd like to, and either way, stay safe.  
> This is a one-shot for now, but you know how it is with our soft boys. They just give you too much inspiration.


End file.
